


Pickles and Peanut Butter

by Nyxelestia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pack Meetings, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 08:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15530583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia
Summary: It took Rafe all of five minutes to figure it out.Chris was well trained, but currently in his home, so he wasn’t putting much effort into hiding his hovering over Melissa — who was wearing sweatpants in (relative) public. Combined with her sandwich — even Rafe, with his mere human nose, could smell the extra pickles that she hated from across the table — and it was clear to him what was going on.And once he knew what to look for, when Melissa turned and he glanced up at her profile, he saw her stomach wasn’t as flat as she usually preferred to keep it.Rafael isn't Melissa's husband anymore and never will be, but he likes to think he's still a friend.





	Pickles and Peanut Butter

It took Rafe all of five minutes to figure it out.

Chris was well trained, but currently in his home, so he wasn’t putting much effort into hiding his hovering over Melissa — who was wearing sweatpants in (relative) public. Combined with her sandwich — even Rafe, with his mere human nose, could smell the extra pickles that she hated from across the table — and it was clear to him what was going on.

And once he knew what to look for, when Melissa turned and he glanced up at her profile, he saw her stomach wasn’t as flat as she usually preferred to keep it.

No one had even bothered to tell Rafe. Even if he wasn’t owed — and maybe even didn’t deserve — to be kept up to date on every detail of her health, they still used to share a life. Didn’t he warrant even a passing mention?

Rafe swallowed down a pang of hurt as he laid out the latest information on Monroe’s people — _finally_ classified as a terrorist group! — over what used to be his own coffee table, in what used to be his house, in front of who he hoped was still his son.

The whole pack was here, today, so it was a tight fit in the couches. Chris and Melissa were sharing the loveseat, the four teenagers still _in_ high school squeezed into the sofa somehow, while Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Malia squeezed into the couch opposite of them. At least Rafe wasn’t the only one who’d dragged in a kitchen chair — Hale also sat in one, almost directly opposite of Rafe.

“So,” Lydia said, sifting through the documents with a critical eye. “Why should we be ‘excited but not _too_ excited’ about the reclassification of Monroe’s Hunters?”

The teenagers glanced at each other — and inexplicably, all of them glanced at Melissa — before looking expectantly at Rafe.

“It’s not much now,” Rafe said, spreading out some of the upcoming financials. “With the size of her group, you guys can’t take her down on her own, and no one can short of _another_ army. But this means the Bureau sees her and her activities in a whole new light. Their leadership gets on watch lists, more widely distributed warrants, and most importantly, more resources to take them down from the inside.”

“What, like infiltrating them?” Malia asked, scrunching her nose a little.

“We tried,” Chris answered, with a grimace. “Or rather, Araya tried. The old families may not be big fans of working with the True Alpha or supernaturals, but they like Monroe’s people even _less_ — but it looks like my father left Monroe with enough information for her to spot us pretty easily.”

“Getting enough departments aware of the supernatural was the hard part,” Rafe continued, frowning as Liam, Hayden, and Malia shifted in their seats, and Scott’s wandering attention. He understood the younger kids’ limited engagement, and maybe even Malia’s, but _Scott_ should understand the gravity of this change, bureaucratic as it was.

Even Stiles seemed a little befuddled, squashed between Lydia and Malia as he was.

“So the only good news you have is that we might get good news a few years from now?” Malia asked, frowning at the report Stiles and Lydia were reading, gaze flickering away only to glance at…Melissa?

Rafe fought down the strong urge to roll his eyes. Stiles did not.

“It means the Bureau can start putting together specialized units and teams specifically to target Monroe,” Stiles said.

“And they get more funding, they get more LEO support, and specifically being a _terrorist_ group means a lot more leeway in the law and due process,” Rafe added, with a single, acknowledging nod toward Stiles. He was good, but he didn’t need to know that Rafe thought so, not yet.

He laid out what this would mean for the official investigations into Monroe — and thus, what it would mean for them. They would have to put more work into staying off official radar, but now they didn’t have to devote so much of their attention to the foundations of Monroe’s organization. They could keep their attention on the Nemetons and on rescuing hapless supernaturals caught in the crossfire of this stupid war.

None of them seemed to hold any of the werewolves’ attention for longer than a few minutes at a time.

“Okay, what gives?” Stiles, of all people, finally asked. “Why are all of you so jumpy?”

Malia and Liam shared a sheepish look, as Scott looked at Melissa apologetically and said, “Sorry, it’s just — you smell a little weird and I guess we’re kinda worried?”

Hale, for some reason, rolled his eyes.

Rafe frowned. Melissa took pride in her youthful appearance, but she was still an older woman — which increased the likelihood for pregnancy complications. Was she all right? Was the baby?

“Weird how?” Rafe asked, looking around them. “What does pregnancy normally smell like to you guys?”

For some reason, everyone in the room froze at that, staring at him in shock.

Except Hale, who grimaced as he pressed his face into his hands.

“What?” Rafe asked, looking around. Chris was looking at him in bewilderment, Scott was looking at Melissa in confusion, and the rest of the pack — save an oddly embarrassed Hale — were looking completely lost at sea.

“…we hadn’t actually told any of them, yet,” Chris said.

Melissa hung her head in exasperation. “My appointment to check is _tomorrow_.”

“You’re _pregnant_?!” Scott yelped, eyes blown open wider than the plate he was eating his sandwich off of.

Melissa looked up to narrow her eyes at her son. Across from them, Hale groaned a little and said, “Yes, Scott, she’s pregnant. Her scent started to change over a week ago.” He looked apologetically at Melissa and Chris apologetically. “I figured if you didn’t say anything, I wouldn’t either.”

Now Rafe looked between the pack — well, the teenagers at least — in confusion. “You mean none of you knew?” he asked with the most neutral voice he could manage. Huh.

So Melissa hadn’t kept it from him in particular, she just hadn’t told _anybody_ yet.

“Wait,” Hayden asked, leaning toward Rafe with curiosity. “How did _you_ know?”

Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Melissa’s wearing sweatpants in public, she’s eating a sandwich with not just pickles but _extra_ pickles, and Chris hasn’t gone further than five feet away from her since I got here.”

Melissa looked down at her outfit. “I hadn’t even thought of that,” she muttered, wincing at her pants.

Rafe shrugged. “I guess I have an unfair advantage?” When half the teenagers looked even more confused, he smiled and said, “First time I ever saw her voluntarily wear sweatpants was the day she told me we were going to have Scott.”

He still remembered that day.

_“A little us!”_ she’d shouted as she danced around the cheap coffee table in their tiny San Jose apartment, her new sweatpants nearly falling off of her hips. He’d proposed on the spot, getting her the biggest ring he could afford — which ultimately was still pretty small — the next day.

Just as well that he didn’t invest too much into her ring. With her cravings, their grocery bill went through the roof.

“I’d invest in pickles and peanut-butter if I were you,” Rafe said to Chris. “She went through two jars of each a _week_ in Scott’s second trimester.”

“But I don’t even _like_ pickles!” Scott blurted out.

“Neither do I,” Melissa drawled, as she picked off a slice of pickle from her sandwich and ate it.

“As long as it’s not anchovies,” Chris muttered, face red despite the smile on his face. “Melissa, I love you, but if you eat anchovies, I’m not kissing you for a week.”

Rafe snorted at the implication, and said, “I’d worry more about steak topped with ice cream and ketchup.”

“That was _one time_!” Melissa protested.

“That ‘one time’ lasted a week!” Rafe said, not bothering to stop the small smile at the memory. “It was _disgusting_.”

“It really sounds disgusting,” Mason said, barely smothering laughter as he looked at Chris’ face.

Melissa rolled her eyes. “Well like I said, nothing is confirmed — my appointment is tomorrow!” She paused, then looked at Derek. “But is my scent really that different? I don’t feel that different, I haven’t even gotten morning sickness yet.”

Hale nodded. “The others probably would’ve figured it out in a week even without being told,” he explained, with a shrug. “I’m just familiar enough with the scent change to recognize it right away.”

“Are you gonna keep it?” Lydia asked.

A slight hush befell the pack, and Rafe didn’t blame them. Even if it was just a few jokes about pregnancy cravings, they had still already started talking as if it was a given Melissa would carry it to term.

Scott almost had a little sibling, once — but Rafe hit one his lowest points in his drinking and they’d barely been keeping their heads afloat as it was, and Melissa hadn’t wanted to bring a baby into that life. They could barely fit the abortion into their budget at the time, let alone an actual baby.

So he knew, better than anyone else in the world, that it wasn’t a given she would keep it.

But he also knew what those little smiles on Chris and Melissa’s faces meant.

“If it’s true,” Melissa said, with a slow nod and a very careful tone. “And there aren’t any serious risks or complications, and if things stay quiet around here for long enough…yeah.”

The pack broke out into grins and cheers, and Rafe jerks slightly at the light, quiet howl as Scott bounded up to hug her.

“Don’t get _too_ excited!” Melissa said, even as she returned the hug. “I’m not kidding about the complications! Honestly, at my age it’s a miracle I got pregnant at all, and there are women who are actually _trying_ and unable to. Accidents aren’t supposed to _happen_ at my age.”

Rafe shook his head as, despite her warnings, the kids already started planning a baby shower and making jokes about the cravings and bickering about what she should name the baby.

“Congratulations,” he wished her simply, and softly.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning into Chris but giving Rafe’s hand a friendly, grateful squeeze. Rafe returned the gesture.

Then, he turned to Chris and added, “I’m really not kidding about the pickles-”

“ _Raf!_ ”


End file.
